Asides

Evidently, I don’t get to both express myself freely and do so without risking some sort of “your self-deprecating jokes are hurtful to me” response, even though there’s no names and no point about anyone else. There’s gotta be a Costanza for this moment of Zen.

What’s NOT normal about making not for distribution pictures into your background for 3 minutes and chats that last until 5 a.m. (local) and include advice about banging some dude that isn’t you and about dealing with your limes? It’s all part of the service. We just call it “Saturday.”

What is it called when you’re on the phone with a girl, and getting drunk messaged by the back in the saddle girl who is misremembering 2007 while partying in the town where the ex wife now lives?
A: no idea, but it might explain waking up alone and a tad bit gutpunched by Budweiser.